


Four Times Sarah Forgot John's Birthday. And One Time She Didn't

by dramady



Category: Terminator, Terminator: The Sarah Connor Chronicles
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-04
Updated: 2010-04-04
Packaged: 2017-10-08 17:17:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/77756
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramady/pseuds/dramady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Title says it all</p>
            </blockquote>





	Four Times Sarah Forgot John's Birthday. And One Time She Didn't

The first time Sarah missed John's birthday, he was just one year old. Working too many hours in the diner and having the baby and still missing Kyle was more than she could actually handle most days. She still looked young and pretty and like there wasn't this thing called "fate" holding them both down with a force that felt too heavy to bear most days. She hardly slept for the nightmares and it was hard enough making sure John was fed. She figured, at one, he wouldn't mind not getting any presents anyway, when she remembered two days too late.

The second time wasn't intentional. They were in the jungles of Central America. It wasn't like there was accessible cake or even the means to make it. And there was so much for John to learn that to take a day felt like an unnecessary luxury. That summer alone, not only did he learn chess, but he learned how to pick locks and make potable water. Not bad for a five year old.

Then, Sarah still mourned that he was too big to sleep with her still, in a twin bed. He kicked a lot as he slept too, which made it impossible, but still, she remembered the touch of his baby hand on her chin. His green eyes were huge and beautiful. Innocent and even then when he smiled, his dimples showed. If Sarah closed her eyes and concentrated, she could still hear his high happy baby laughter that would come when she tickled his sides.

The third time wasn't really her fault either. She was locked up in the psych ward. And there were days when taking the pills they gave her didn't feel like such a bad idea; at least then she could sleep. They weren't going to let her send mail anyway. Occasionally, John would send her a note; labored handwriting on lined notebook paper with the rough fringed edges hanging off it. _Dear mom. Today we learned how soda pop is carboneted. When are you getting out? Love, John_.

She wishes still she could have taken those notes with her when they broke her out. The thought of living without her son fills her with such dread-- a sharp digging pain in her chest-- that there are times when she can't even breathe. Sometimes, still, she will watch him sleep, feel her own heart beat to match his, under her hand.

When Sarah forgot John's birthday the fourth time, he pouted all day and it took until after supper for her to pry it out of him, then he'd stormed off and slammed his door. She'd left the T-800 at the house and had gone to go get cupcakes, which she stuck candles in and tried to cajole him into blowing out. He'd just rolled his eyes at her and turned over on his bed. She'd finally lost her temper and snapped, "John! Blow out the damned candles!"

That had been a rough year. For a while there, she forgot that he was still a little boy. The boy who'd slept with his hand under her chin. Who'd smelled like cinnamon as a baby. It was easy to forget that, sure. But that didn't excuse it.

She never said she was a very good mother. But then she didn't really need to be. What she needed to be was someone who helped prepare him for war. Late at night, too late to do anything more for the day, she'd curl up into herself to try to keep out the fear. Parents were supposed to protect their children against any and everything. She couldn't. She'd not even be there when it came time to fight. She'd try to breathe deeply and calm herself down and she'd screw her eyes shut, her body taut like a wire. The tension would make her shake, but she'd not cry. She wondered, often, if she'd forgotten how.

But then she remembers. His sixteenth. It should have been his twenty-fourth if they'd not leapfrogged forward (past when she would have died, but she tries not to think about that). She prays to a nonspecific entity that she sees him when he's that age. But Cameron's sent for a cake and when Derek's taking him for an ice cream, she wraps his presents, the practical one and a less practical one. His smile when she tells him makes her realize she still can cry. His dimples. Her beautiful son. The love she feels is strong enough to bring her to her knees.

Later, after cake and ice cream, even, Cameron standing guard in the kitchen, Derek standing guard watching Cameron, Sarah drags John from his computer and tugs him toward his bed with the sheets in a pile in the middle. He never did like to have the sheet tucked in; he'd kick it free every time. She pulls him to the bed and to his side and curls herself around his back. She can feel his surprise, his tentativeness at this. She wraps her arms around his thin chest and presses her cheek to the back of his neck, her legs curled against the back of his.

He still smells like cinnamon, her breath catches in the back of her throat and she holds him tighter, tight enough for him to gasp a little. "Mom?" he asks.

"I'm okay," she replies, smiling for him even if he can't see it. "Good birthday?"

"... Yeah," he answers, sounding a little bit surprised, his body relaxing by degrees into hers. "Thanks."

"I remembered."

She can feel his smile, hear it in his voice. "Yeah. I was wondering."

"Do you expect me to forget?" She asks, trying to banish the hurt.

John turns his head, his eyes slanted to be able to look at her. "Yeah."

She wishes she could promise that she wouldn't forget. But Judgment Day is still coming. The only promise she can afford to make is to keep her son alive and to prepare him.

"Happy Birthday."

John settles into her embrace. "Thanks, mom."


End file.
